


Rocks and Water

by firearms57



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lots and Lots of OCs, M/M, because the story doesnt make sense without them, i mean im trying to write families and a village worth of people, many arcs later dont worry this is a longfic, moonfam origins, moonshadow elves are traditionalists, shit parents, the guildmasters play cards in their free time, will timeline until dragonguard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firearms57/pseuds/firearms57
Summary: "Tiadrin!" Laida's voice sounded above the chaos of the sparring room. "Quit beating up the recruits and focus on your job!"Tiadrin scowled and muttered under her breath, "Beating up recruits is my job." But she raised her voice and yelled with only a hint of sarcasm "Understood, Guildmaster!" before turning back to Runaan.She eyed him for a long moment before she relaxed her stance and pulled the knife away. "I hope you learn quickly," was all she said, and Lain was enthralled.--An origin story. How Lain and Tiadrin reached the Dragonguard, how Runaan became an assassin, and how Ethari became a smith.Will be told in three arcs.
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 42





	1. Finitude

**Author's Note:**

> this is a lot of exposition, which im slightly nervous about. also, this is a longfic, which im slightly nervous about. also, there is a lot of headcanon worldbuilding in here that id be happy to explain if you leave a question in the comments. ill probably expand in future chapters. for now, just know the assassins guild is the pillar of moonshadow culture.

The girl was pretty, he supposed, pretty enough that she caught his eye from a hundred yards and a breathless four miles into his training routine. She had a narrowish face and a wire-thin frame that did not match with the easy way she worked over the mass of vine and rock that blocked the forest path some three hundred feet behind him. He didn’t recognize her from his own troupe, but it was common enough for training exercises to overlap, even within the boundary of neighboring communities.

“Hurry up, Lain.”

Runaan rapped him on the shoulder as he passed, which Lain did not appreciate — he did not exactly have a gentle touch. Lain tore his gaze from the girl’s retreating back and hurried to catch up with his errant friend.

Runaan slowed and allowed him to fall in step beside him, and they ran in silence for a while, following the bare path carving through the foliage from decades of drilled training exercises. It was a balmy summer morning, the forest still recovering from the previous night’s rain, and the ground was dangerously slick from wet. The thick canopy would shield the world beneath until high noon, and even still it would be hours yet before the land was comfortably dry. Most would be holed away in their homes at this hour of the morning, and probably for much of the foreseeable day, but sleeping late was a luxury that the guild apprentices did not have. They were young, and thus the rigors not quite as demanding as their elders in their specialized occupations, but they were challenged, still. 

Lain didn’t particularly mind the rain or the demands of his to-be profession, but he knew his friend had different feelings, and he finally saw fit to break the silence with a query after his health.

“How are you doing?” he asked between steps. 

“It’s wet. It’s early. My ankle aches from when  _ you _ stepped on it yesterday. How am I supposed to feel?” 

Lain rolled his eyes. “ _ Runaan _ . I meant your sister.” 

Runaan scowled. “What about her?”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted when, ahead, the ground split into a series of uneven gnolls, empty pockets of earth knotted into the ground as if hacked away with a great axe. It was messy, and obviously artificial, one of the many obstacles that the guild students were to be faced with on the daily. 

“The guildmasters were unhappy this morning,” Runaan muttered, hopping gingerly from foot to foot to avoid slipping. Lain noticed with a pang that he was favoring his right leg. Still, guilty conscience or no, he had a moral duty as “friend” to ensure his partner’s wellbeing. 

“Well, how is she?” 

When there was no response, Lain glanced away from his footwork to find Runaan’s jaw set and lips pressed into a line. 

“Ru —”

“I don’t see how that matters,” he snapped. “It’s not relevant.” 

The ground smoothed over and began a slender slope downwards. In the distance, Lain could just barely make out the lively sounds of morning bustle, shops opening and those stubborn enough to brave the weather. They were nearing the end of the loop. 

“Hey! Runaan!” 

Lain scurried forward and caught hold of Runaan’s arm. 

Runaan shrugged him aside, twitching, but he stopped all the same. 

“Listen, you need to  _ slow down _ for a second. I —” Lain cut off when he saw Runaan stiffen and sighed. His friend could  _ really _ use a lesson on emotional vulnerability. He softened his tone and tried again, “I just want to help.”

“I understand that.” His words came out tight, but the fact that he responded at all was promising, from him. “I just don’t think it’s important.”

“Don’t think it’s —” Lain ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to lower his voice. “Runaan, your sister almost  _ died _ . That’s a very big deal, especially when you choose to pursue the very path that put her there.”

A heavy pause.

“Look, can’t you at least try to explain? You haven’t talked to me the whole week. Actually, you’ve actively  _ avoided _ me the whole week.”

“I haven’t —”

“Yes, you have, and you weren’t even trying to be discreet. I got stuck with green recruits four days in a row because you were absent on partnering rounds.”

“I needed to think.”

“Well, you’ve had your time, so let’s talk.” 

Runaan looked away, shifted on his feet and glanced back at Lain. “She’s not getting better,” he muttered. “And she won’t talk to me.”

Lain waited.

“It’s not like she’s ever talked to me before.” Runaan huffed a laugh, harsh and scathing, then turned on his heel and began walking again. 

Lain began to protest, but Runaan threw a hand over his shoulder and said, “I’m not evading, but the guildmasters will get suspicious if we’re late. We’ll speak while we walk.”

That was Runaan, thinking about his reputation even while he was hurting. Lain swallowed his sigh and followed. 

Runaan began unprompted this time, which probably meant he was more worried than he let on. “When the blackspine hit her, it got her in the stomach, but she fell on her back. She was unconscious when her troupe brought her back, so they didn’t know how bad it was, but when she woke up, she couldn’t move her legs.” Runaan swallowed hard and turned his head to the sky as if checking the degree of the sun. Of course, he wasn’t. He was just stalling. 

“Go on,” Lain prompted gently. 

Runaan sighed heavily. “The healer said she broke something. He suspects the spinal cord, but it’s not like he’s going to cut her open and check. He doesn’t know if it’s a full break or a damage that will heal naturally, and he said it’s too early to be sure. We’ll only know if her recovery gets better with time.”

“And you worry she won’t,” Lain guessed. 

“No —  _ yes _ , obviously, but it’s more than that.” Runaan waved a hand through the air. “We’ve...talked about her injury and the possibility of no recovery. Neither of us are happy, obviously, but you know us. We’ve never lied about reality. It’s not our way. It’s the  _ waiting _ I can’t stand. I wish these weeks would be gone so I could know how to accommodate her.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Lain touched his shoulder. “Besides, moments like these are the best opportunities for growth. When else would you prompt yourself into juggling dual responsibilities? Family  _ and  _ work?”

“Never,” Runaan muttered. “Precisely because it means I can’t focus properly on either.” 

“ _ Runaan _ . You have to learn how to do  _ both _ . Life’s the best teacher, if you’ll just let it guide you.”

Runaan did not respond, and Lain didn’t push him. They walked the last two miles in silence, then paused at the top of the hill that hid them from the view of the rest of the village. 

Runaan turned to Lain and offered him a small smile. 

“I appreciate your help, Lain,” he said, “even if you are a pushy ass about it.”

Lain smiled and pulled him into an unwarranted embrace. “That part just means I  _ care _ . Now, let’s get back down there before Liam eats our breakfast.” 

*

When they entered the mess hall, they were greeted by Laida’s unhappy timbre. Normally, nothing could stand between an elf just off training and their prospective meal, but as guildmaster and keeper of the twelve that made up their troupe, Laida had just enough authority to do so.

“You’re late,” she said, stepping before them in that imperious way of hers. Despite being a bare inch above five foot, she managed to convey the affluent air of the Dragon King himself. 

“Guildmaster,” Runaan greeted with a respectful tilt of his horns, but his tone belied his apparent regard. “I have to disagree. We’re a full half hour before the deadline, and the hall isn’t even close to full, meaning that even the year-ups haven’t completed their run before us.”

Laida interrupted him with a knock between the horns. It was the sort of reprimand you’d give a child, not a seventeen year old assassin-to-be, and given to such a revered pupil, doubly humiliating. 

“I meant in a personal regard, you twit,” she snapped. “That arrogance will get you flogged by a testier master, Runaan. Curb it now.”

Runaan looked at her, wincing, but the ire in his eyes did not leak into his tone. “Yes, Guildmaster.” 

Laida nodded, then reassessed her stance. “Now, what I meant was that you’ve come in a full fourteen minutes after your usual time. I don’t know what the reason for that could be, given you aren’t lovers, so far as I know —”

Lain spluttered an affronted protest, but Laida plowed right on. 

“Nor have either of you ever been severely impeded by the rain. I’m old enough to know when further prying is necessary, and this is not such a time, but I am giving you fair warning. I placed my repute and career in advocating for you all those years ago. You’re my most promising students, and I expect you both to make it as Knives by next winter’s end. Do not ruin this opportunity with frivolities, do you understand?”

Both Lain and Runaan nodded.

Mollified, Laida stepped aside and let them pass. 

They did so cautiously, then hastened their step once they’d passed her. Laida had a glare like forge-heated steel. They slipped past the first-years along their way to their corner table, and Lain was uncomfortably aware of their bright eyes and hopeful expressions, knowing that such youthful optimism would soon be ripped from them and gutted beneath the guildmasters’ scrupulous attentions. Softness had no place in an assassin’s life until they were well and truly broken in, and at that point it was enforced merely to preserve one’s sanity. 

They approached the table in the corner, and with the already seated ten, plus Lain and Runaan’s two, it was the least crowded but for the tenth-years who had lost three in the year-end cuts and were now down to a scant seven. The occupants were mostly quiet, focused on their meals, but they chipped into the main conversation every now and then so as not to be excluded. 

Liam was, as usual, hollering about something or other, to Talis, who was not paying him attention other than the occasional nod. He cut off when he noticed them approaching, face breaking out into a broad grin.

He half rose in his chair with his wave. “Lain, Ru _ naan _ ! About time! I was debating with my friend here whether or not you’d been devoured by a blackspine, them being so prevalent this year —  _ ow _ .”

The girl on his right had elbowed him sharply in the ribs and was now glaring at him with gray eyes gone furious. 

“What?” Liam cried.

“Not funny,” she said mildly. 

Lain shot a glance at Runaan just in time to notice him forcibly unclench his jaw. Sure not to let his worry show, he plastered on an easy smile and slung an arm over his shoulders.

“That’s alright, Talis,” he said, “I’m sure he wasn’t thinking of how it’d affect Runaan when he said it.” 

“No, he just wasn’t  _ thinking _ , as usual,” Talis said, but she returned to her fruit without saying more.

“I didn’t even  _ do  _ anything,” Liam muttered, and Lain did his best to ignore him.

Jara scooted over to offer him space, and Lain seated himself with a gracious smile, pulling Runaan along with him. Runaan settled with a grimace. He preferred to sit on the end of the bench, but they were lucky to receive a space at all. They were taught early to show no pity to comrades come late to breakfast; the guildmasters’ punishment. Luckily, their troupe was closer than most, and Laida enjoyed spiting the system enough to encourage their small rebellions.

“So,” Liam began, “can I  _ ask _ why you two are so late, or will I get punished for that, too?”

Lain helped himself to a pair of bread loaves and what was left of the fruit and filled a second plate for Runaan. Runaan took it with that same confused gratitude he always expressed whenever someone offered him a kindness. Lain patted him on the head before turning to address Liam.

“No reason in particular,” he said. “We found a dry patch amidst the wet, and we got to talking.” 

“ _ Oooh _ .” Liam pounded a triumphant fist on the table. “I  _ knew  _ it. You hear that, Talis? They got to  _ talking _ —”

“That’s not a euphemism,” Talis interrupted, but Liam wasn’t listening. 

He pointed at Runaan. “I always knew you swung the other way, but  _ Lain _ — that’s a surprise. Wasn’t he into that one girl from the Highgrove last year?”

Lain colored. “Hold on —”

“Oh, yeah,” Rhys piped up with a mouth full of ham. “The one with the pretty eyes. She clocked him in the jaw for staring.” 

Liam cackled. “That’ll teach you!”

“Actually, not,” Runaan added. “I caught him staring at her ass just an hour ago.”

Lain spun around to look at him. “I thought you were  _ running _ .” 

“I still have eyes, Lain,” Runaan said hotly. “You’re not discreet with your affections.” 

“Except with Runaan apparently —  _ ”  _ Liam began but cut off with a yelp when Talis saw fit to intercede again with the sharp end of her fist.

“Would you cut it out?” she snapped. “You’re not funny. Next time, I’ll break your arm instead of bruise it.” 

“Oh, she’s mad now.” Rhys, who had been scooping butter into his mouth by the spoonful, paused to speak. “Better listen, Liam. You know she’s serious when she threatens violence.”

“I’m always serious,” Talis interjected, “I just don’t like idiots who can’t close their mouths long enough to let a thought interject once in a while.” 

“STUDENTS.” 

Farin’s exclamation, animated by his respectable reservoir of magic, jarred most conversation by its root. Youth or not, they were still military trained. 

‘THE MEAL IS CONCLUDED. YOU MAY STEP OUTSIDE FOR PAIR DRILLS. YOU WILL BEGIN AS STUDENTS TO YOUR YEAR-UPS, FOLLOWED BY MONITORED INSTRUCTION WITH YOUR YEAR-DOWNS.” Farin nodded at the now-silent room. “DISMISSED.”

The room stood as a single unit, then began filling for the exit in uneven rows. Guildmasters called for troupes over the sound of marching feet and scattered conversation. Runaan trailed after Lain with a hand on his elbow. He wasn’t overly fond of crowds, and he preferred a tactile stimulus. Lain was glad to be of service. 

“Over —  _ fuck  _ — over here, damn it!” 

Laida’s flushed face popped through the crowd before disappearing again, an airborne fish dropped back into the waves. Lain tracked her by the disgruntled expressions pointed  _ down _ , the unwitting leader to Runaan and the rest of his fellows. 

“This way _ —  _ shit, fuck _ , just follow me _ ,” was Laida’s greeting _ ,  _ to which Lain did not give a response other than a passive nod.

When they’d squeezed out through the hundred bodies and come out into the grassy courtyard that served as the training yard, Laida drew in a breath and threw her hands to the heavens.

“Moon and  _ fucking  _ shadow! That gets worse with every passing year!” She took in one last suffering inhale before her posture shifted and her tone went crisp. “Right. To business. They’ve put me in charge of this team, so Silha’s brats are mine, now.” 

Indeed, a slow stream of bodies came to stand beside those already gathered, tentative and guarded as Moonshadows were with those they didn’t know well. There were fifteen in total; Lain recognized a few faces, but most were strangers. Laida gave them a few minutes to gather themselves before she began again. 

“As the numbers are uneven, we will have to amend the rules in order to comply with the requirements of a  _ pair drill _ ,” Laida said. “Now, be honest now, who is the best among the lot of you?” 

There was a moment of uneasy silence, a murmur passed through the crowd. Two stepped forward confidently, one with mild prompting and a final unsure glance thrown over his shoulder, and the last was shoved out from behind her friend with barely concealed annoyance. 

“Four of you,” Laida nodded. “That makes this easy, then. Each one of you will take three of my recruits; in succession, not all together. Don’t get excited.” Laida began to assign their troupe to each of the four leaders. When she reached Runaan and Lain, she said, “Runaan to Saia, Lain to Malik. I’m sorry to separate you, but I think it’s unfair to have you both on a single person, don’t you agree?” 

Lain nodded sagely. “Of course, Guildmaster.” 

Laida gave him a wan smile. “You just agree no matter what I say.” Before Lain could voice a word of protest, she leaned in and whispered, “Just between the three of us: wipe the floor with them, won’t you?” 

Runaan smiled wolfishly. “Of course, Guildmaster.”

*

It was high noon when they switched from roles. Though the physical tax was not the same, Runaan found it far more exhausting playing teacher than student, restraining his abilities as opposed to stretching them. He knew how to speak plainly, which he thought more efficient than the flowered words of encouragement Lain offered, and his partner was an amiable enough student, but still. By the end of the day, he was drenched in sweat and his temper was sharp enough to cut himself on.

Still, he dragged himself to meet Lain at the edge of the training yard, as they always did at the end of the day. Thankfully, Lain didn’t seem to be in the mood for a chat, merely yelled, “See you, tomorrow!” and dashed off in that happy shadowpaw way of his. 

Runaan shook his head on a smile and turned for home. 

His home was on the southern edge of the grove, nestled between two firs and only a handful of steps from the ritual pool. It was a melancholy house, shadowed as it was and set beside a place of mourning, and as Runaan stepped closer, he felt the familiar gloom more apt than ever. 

He stepped inside and shut the door with deliberate strength, for between his taciturn air and his sister’s even quieter nature, the sound of the door served just as well as a shouted hello. He pulled off his boots and left them stacked in tandem with a second, smaller pair before padding off for the kitchen. 

It was a small house, but the threadbare furnishings made it seem overly large. Indeed, one would not fully know the effect a soft chair and a bit of upholstery had on the dreary emptiness of a room until one stepped into Runaan’s house. It was bare, void of color or personality save the staple necessities to survive, an oven, a cooling box with enchantments carved down the side, a smattering of cutlery amidst other, more poignant knives. 

Runaan pulled a clean plate off the rack beside the sink, kneeled on the black chestnut of his floor and pulled the cooling box open. Inside was a half-eaten torte, a jug of milk, and a variety of fruits kept fresh by the enchantments. He stacked the plate with fruit and the bread left over from their pre-breakfast, then headed for the hallway. 

He found Nia in much the same position as he’d left her, except when he’d left her she hadn’t had inkstains smudged across her nose and hands, nor had there been a mountain of crumpled papers littering the floor like the Silvergrove’s first snowfall.

Runaan paused in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this?” he asked.

“Boredom,” Nia said flatly. She hurled something at the wall beside his head, and he tracked its trajectory from her hand until the point it came to rest at the space between his feet. He reached down and picked it up off the floor, then held it up between two fingers for examination.

“A pen?” he said.

“Yes, it’s what people use to write,” she retorted dryly. “Hands are for more than knives, remember?”

Runaan’s lips thinned. He let the pen slip from his fingers and kicked the door shut behind him. He didn’t have any particular reason to do so — it was just the two of them — but he’d acquired the habit and had never seen reason to part with it. Besides, he felt more secure with four walls around him. 

As he approached the bedside, Nia reached above her head and took hold of the bedframe with both hands. She heaved herself upright without outward effort, then arranged her legs beneath her as one might a stuffed doll. She scowled while she did it, then scowled some more when Runaan dropped the plate in her lap. 

She prodded at the bread. “Leftovers?” 

Runaan perched on the edge of the bed and settled his own frown across his lips. “That’s all we had. I haven’t been to the market since last week.” 

Nia grunted and prodded at the bread before stuffing it into her mouth. “So, what’s new?” she mumbled. 

“You could’ve asked before you started chewing,” Runaan said. “And nothing much. The guildmasters said something about a year skip for us, so that’s new.”

Nia choked on her mouthful and sat upright, pounding on her stomach. Runaan watched with mild interest. 

“A  _ year skip _ ?” she managed after a moment. “Runaan, that’s not something they do for just anyone.”

“I am aware.” 

“They didn’t even do that for me.” She stared at him. “You said ‘us.’ Who else are they considering?”

“Lain.”

She snorted. “Of course.”

Runaan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem surprised.” 

“No. If anyone could stand up to you, it’s him. You were first at everything, but he was always right on your heels.”

“Barring you. You were always better at everything.”

“Well.” Nia shoved a chunk of sweetmelon into her mouth. “You won’t have to worry about that now.” 

“About that.” Runaan tucked a leg beneath himself and set his gaze to the ground. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you —”

“ _ No _ .” 

He looked up. “Pardon?”

“I said no. We’ve talked about it so many times I can hear your words before you say them. ‘Nia, it’s worrying, the way you shut down. Nia, don’t be a pessimist; we don’t even know all the facts yet. Nia, you know Mum wouldn’t want you to be down on yourself over something you can’t fix.’  _ Gods _ , Runaan, you’re like one of those self-esteem novels Dad gave me when I was thirteen.”

Runaan, whose jaw had tightened with each word that escaped her mouth and now felt like a wound spring, straightened. “Well, I’ll take my leave, then,” he said tightly. He made to get off the bed, but Nia spoke up again.

“Wait.”

He paused without looking.

She sighed heavily. “Stay there, you dramatic ass. I’m bored as all hell, and you’re probably the only entertainment I’ll get for the rest of the week.”

Runaan hid a vicious smile and scooted backwards on his hands. He waited.

“Toff’s putting his foot down about my rest period,” she said after a moment. “He told me this morning: three weeks minimum.”

Runaan frowned. “That’s not what he said two days ago.”

“Yeah, I  _ know _ , that’s why I specified.”

He hesitated, and Nia leaned forward to swat him. “Stop that. I’m not made of glass.”

His lips twitched. “No, you are very much not.” He sobered again. “I just wondered...if the healer had mentioned anything new about your recovery?

Nia shook her head. “The same as always. He can’t make any decisive statements until he sees how my body adapts to the injury.” 

Runaan nodded. He twisted halfway to look her over again, and his tone lightened considerably. “How’s the pain? Have you been doing the exercises like he said?” 

“The pain?” Her brow furrowed. “There is none. Didn’t I tell you this already?”

She had, in fact, multiple times, but it was hard to remember that someone as  _ vivid _ as Nia was also the bearer of two non-functioning limbs. His mind couldn't seem to pair the childhood memories of a girl that leapt from the rooftop of the bakery onto his father’s waiting back with the whip-thin approximation lying in a sickbed. Perhaps that was a flaw innate to his own self. 

“I suppose you have,” he murmured.

Nia yawned and set the empty plate aside. “Why don’t you read to me from that book you like. The flowery shit. ‘Shakefist,’ or whatever.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, that.” She leaned back against the headboard and shut her eyes. “It’s nice. You have a good voice for it.” 

Runaan sat very still and repeated what she’d said in his mind. Nia didn’t say things like that. To anyone, ever. “Of course,” he heard himself say, but it was from a very far away place. 

He leaned over and reached an arm under the bed. He returned with a thick tome in his hand. 

“Which one would you like?” he asked, blowing dust from the cover. 

“ _ The Rape of Lucrece _ ,” she said without hesitation. 

Runaan flipped through the book and began to read.

*

Lain crept along the cobbled path that ran between his mother’s garden. He moved quick and quiet, carefully avoiding sticks and fallen debris that might alert the house’s occupants to his presence. At the door, he paused, listening.

It was quiet inside, save the low burr of his father’s voice, and dark save the flicker of candlelight and the luminescence offered by the fading sun. Satisfied, Lain reared back on his heels and drew the door open. 

His father did not react at his appearance, but his mother started, jolting upright before sinking back into the plush of her seat. She gave him an absent smile before returning her attention to the table. Lain spared them a glance as he shucked his coat off. They were playing tak, as usual, a game of stones.

When his boots were lying in a heap by the door, coat slung across the open closet door, he stood there in the foyer for a moment. The stones made little  _ thunks _ when they hit the wood of the gameboard. 

“I’m back,” he offered, hoping he might rouse one or both of his idle parents to attention.

“So we heard,” his father said and moved one of his stones into an offensive position. “Draw or idle?”

“Idle,” his mother said, to which his father laughed. 

“You know I take the win when you play defensive.”

His mother reached across the table and tapped a finger against his cheek. “Well, I’m about to remedy that, don’t you worry.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Lain watched them blankly, and a sudden anger rose within him. They hadn’t done anything specific to warrant it. Their mere existence peeved him. Always idle, always waiting for something to happen while the world spun circles around the pocketed bubble they’d built for themselves.

“Lain.” 

He glanced up at his father’s voice, momentarily pulled from his thoughts. 

“What are you doing standing there like that? Why don’t you come over and greet your mother like a proper son?” 

His jaw clenched. “Yes, Father.” 

He crossed the foyer stiffly and moved around to stand beside his mother. She held her hand out in traditional greeting, and he took it between his. 

She looked up from her game and smiled at him, the brown of her eyes twinkling merrily. “And how was your day, son?” she asked him.

“I’m continuing with the guild.”

Her eyes went round as saucers, her mouth fallen open in shock. His father looked not much better. Lain savored it.  _ That  _ had gotten a rise out of them. 

“ ‘Continue.’ ” His mother breathed the word from somewhere very far away. 

“Lain,” his father rumbled, “what nonsense are you speaking?” 

“It’s not nonsense, father. You know I never lie to you.” 

His father’s eyes narrowed dangerously. For all his flaws, stupidity was not one of them. “Explain.”

“Laida vouched for me,” he said. “Runaan and I are to join the Highgrove at winter’s end.” He left out the part about them not being officially approved by the Council. Laida’s intuition was right nine times out of ten, and besides, he was enjoying his parents’ discomfort.

“No, no, that can't be right," his mother muttered. "You're good, but you were never  _ that _ good. You're a farmer, like your father."

"Listen to your mother, Lain," his father said. "You had your fun, but you're almost grown now. It's time you started thinking about the future."

"Future? What future?" Lain spat. "Will I sit here whittling away the days in the garden? Or perhaps you'd like me to get married." He snorted. "You've probably already found someone. Is that what you want? To drag another elf into this stain of a family?"

His mother seemed taken aback at his vitriol, and his father rose from his chair, a storm on his brow. "That's enough!" he bellowed. "You don't come into this house yelling profanities and threats. I raised you better than that. Your mother deserves your respect, and I damn well think I should too."

Lain laughed scathingly. " 'Respect is earned,' you always say. Best toughen up, Father."

His father stared at him a moment before shoving back from the table and storming across the living room. He threw open the door and pointed out into the night. "Get out of here," he snapped, "and don't return until you can be civil."

Lain sneered in his face. "Yes, Father."

*

Runaan sat upright. He cocked his ears and listened. Night owls, crickets, a singular pesky lyrebird, frogs and newts, nothing out of the ordinary. Except lyrebirds were diurnal and it was well past dusk, and he didn't think he'd ever heard one sound a mating call two months after the season. 

"Not again," he muttered and leaned over to pull the window open. As expected, the moonlight illuminated a lonely figure standing with hands still cupped over his mouth in the shade of his family's elm tree. 

As he watched, the figure dropped his hands to his sides and offered a lopsided grin. "Thank the Moon," Lain said. "I was one call away from scaling your roof and climbing in through your attic."

*

He ordered Lain to sit at the kitchen table while he set about making tea. "What was it this time?"

Runaan kept his voice low, wont to wake Nia but also because it felt wrong to raise his voice in the sobered ambiance they'd gathered between the two of them. 

Lain traced the whorls along the table's grain, gaze downcast and thoughtful. "I got cocky when I shouldn't have," he said

Runaan hummed and walked back to the table carrying two cups. He set one down in front of Lain. "That sounds more like me than you."

Lain wrapped his hands around the mug but didn't drink. "Perhaps you've rubbed off on me."

"Is that a good thing?"

"They just make me so angry," he explained. "My whole life, they've done the same thing. Farm crops, play tak, sleep, repeat. According to them, that's all they ever wanted or will want." He shook his head in disgust. "They have no ambition. I don't understand."

Runaan eyed him. He nodded at Lain's still-full mug. "Drink some of that, and we'll talk."

Lain looked down at the mug as if he’d forgotten it, then took an idle sip. 

Runaan waited until he’d downed half of it before speaking again. “You’ve explained your upset to me. Really, you’ve explained it every time you’ve come here. Still — do you think perhaps you’ve grown complacent?” 

Lain paused with his lips an inch from the porcelain rim of his cup. “What?” 

Runaan pursed his lips. “Do you ever stop to think that you’re lucky for having them at all?”

“ _ Oh _ .” Lain set his cup down. “ _ Runaan _ . I’m so sorry. Of course, I come in here complaining about my parents when you have none at all and your only sister has just had a scare with  _ death _ — careless. I’m sorry. Do you need me to leave or —”

Runaan held up a hand. “You’re much too quick to pick up the blame,” he commented. “I ask out of curiosity, not as a criticism.  _ Do _ you?”

Lain fell back into his seat, brow furrowing in thought. “Not really? Parents are just something you take for granted, I guess. Most people have them, so you kind of just assume you should, too.” He paused. “I’m sorry if that’s hurtful.” 

“No,” Runaan said. “I think I understand. It’s how I feel about Nia. She’s always been there. Why shouldn’t she be? It’s only recently that I’ve been thinking otherwise.” 

“Yeah… How is she?” 

Runaan looked heavenwards, fingers clacking against the side of his cup. “She’s fine, and she can probably hear us talking about her, so best not.” 

“Right. Sorry.” Lain hesitated. “And...what about you?” 

Runaan looked at him. “You asked me this morning.”

“Well you didn’t exactly answer.” 

Runaan scoffed. “Yes, I did. How is ‘I’m stressed’ not an answer?” 

Lain pointed at him with a triumphant smile. “Yes, good! You’re stressed. Tell me more.” 

“Would you like a list of my everyday peeves?” he said dryly.

“Have you got one?”

“ _ No _ .”

“You should try it. Writing is good for emotional expression.” 

“Lain, sometimes I wonder how you got hooked into the Guild at all when your calling as a poet is so clearly laid out before you. You have that overripe-speak, pain-in-my-ass dichotomy down pat.”

Lain shrugged. “I’m good at hitting people, I guess.”

After, they placed their dirtied cups in the sink to be washed in the morning, and Runaan led Lain down the hall to the far room. He took a quick pit stop in the closet for a fresh pair of linens and a down pillow that he never used because the softness disagreed with him. 

“You’re putting me on your couch again?” Lain asked

“Yes. As a rule, we don’t have guests. No guests, no bed.” Runaan finished tucking the covers between the cushions and retreated with a flourish. “All pretty for you.”

Lain shuffled over and sat atop it gingerly. “You know I appreciate you always doing this for me,” he said earnestly.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“But  _ really _ , Runaan.”

Runaan rolled his eyes and walked to the doorway. “Goodnight, Lain.” 

*

“Runaan.”

Nia’s voice came through the crack in her door. He mourned his empty bed for a moment before firming his resolve and slipping inside.

Nia was sitting upright against the bedframe with her eyes turned towards the window. She seemed to like that position. He wondered if she missed being outside, the way she looked so intently. She rolled her head around to face him when the door opened.

“He’s alright,” she said.

Runaan leaned against the doorjamb. “He is.”

“Why’s he here in the first place?” 

“You  _ were  _ listening.”

“I was, but you got quieter towards the end, so fill me in.” 

Runaan said, “He didn’t explain himself very well. Something about being angry at his parents, the usual. Probably offended his father.”

Nia grunted. “What do you suppose it’s like, having two living parents, yet never being intelligent enough to appreciate them?”

“Don’t be cruel,” Runaan snapped. “We all have our struggles to deal with, and Lain deserves my kindness more than you do.” 

She snorted. “Don’t pretend, Runaan. We both know you value duty too seriously to abandon your family bonds.”

Runaan clenched his jaw. “Yes.” 

They were silent for a moment. 

“But, actually,” Nia said, “he’s not hurt?” 

“No, his parents aren’t like that.” Runaan shook his head. “Honestly, I remember them being fairly pleasant the few times I met them. I’m not sure why he’s on such poor terms with them.” 

Nia half-lifted herself into the air, then eased onto her back. The bed creaked defiantly. “Different ideas on how to live,” she said. “Your Lain has plans. His parents, it seems, do not, or they do, just the wrong ones. Clashing temperaments. Just imagine what it would be like if I was  _ nice _ .”

“Can you imagine?” Runaan asked dryly. “Surely we wouldn’t get along  _ nearly  _ so well as we do.”

“Nah, you would be confused out of your mind. You’re used to taking my beatings.”

Runaan’s lip twitched. He fumbled the doorknob and half-slipped outside.  Nia was already rolling onto her side, back facing him.

“Goodnight, Runaan,” she muttered into her pillow. “And look after yourself, would you? Now that I’m not around to do it?”

He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and managed a hurried “Goodnight” before he shut the door behind him. 


	2. Capital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaah im sorry this took so long! I took a break to visit a friend and it was difficult to find my voice again

Asking a toddler to sit still was perhaps as hard as shooting a bullseye from a hundred paces. Asking  _ two _ toddlers, who also happened to be twins and thus partners in crime, was a feat of such impossibility, Ethari thought the universe would implode upon the request. 

“Erm, Miss.” The painter, whose name Ethari had forgotten, was an amiable enough fellow. Working in a city as large and varied as the Highgrove would do that to a person, and if one wanted to garner success they had to learn to turn a blind eye to every oddity but the sky falling in. Still, it seemed even a seasoned veteran like him could not keep his thoughts unvoiced.

“Miss,” he addressed Ethari’s mother, standing beside Glenn, who stood beside Irie, all of whom stood behind Ethari and the squirming twins he was wrangling. “I can’t get a good focus on those two” — he pointed to Aiden and Bran, struggling to evade Ethari’s grip on their loose shirt collars — “when they don’t stand still. Could you, perhaps, find some way to, ah, calm their nerves?” 

“Ethari?” Rea asked without turning her head. 

“Hm?” Ethari answered with half an ear, trying to contain his flailing brothers while keeping from moving around too much himself. “Oh, don’t worry, Mum, I’ll get them to behave themselves. Isn’t that right, boys?”

“ _ No _ ,” Aiden spat.

Bran went suddenly limp, and Ethari lunged forward to catch him before he could hit the ground. “This is bo-ring,” he said. “Mum, when’s dinner? You said we could have moonberry surprise for dessert.” 

“And for dinner?” Aiden added hopefully. 

“If you have it for dinner, it can’t be dessert,” Ethari said lightly. He pulled Bran back into a standing position and tucked him in against his side. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I’ll tell you what.” 

Two pairs of eyes turned to him and widened in wonder. Bran found secrets fascinating, and thus Aiden did by default. 

“What?” Bran asked.

“I’ll let you have it for dinner anyway,” Ethari said, “ _ and  _ I’ll give you what I’m having, too.”

“ _ No _ ,” Bran breathed. “What are you having?” 

“I was thinking venison steak and braised freyroot.” 

“I like freyroot,” Bran said.

Aiden glanced at him. “Yeah, me too.” 

“ _ But  _ —”

“Aw, why’s there always a but?” Bran demanded.

“Yeah, it’s not right.” Aiden crossed his little arms and tried to look piqued at his injustice. Ethari stifled a laugh.

“Because,” he said, “we’re Moonshadows, and the Moon looks fondly on deals. Now, I’ll let you have all that if you  _ promise _ to stay still for this nice man here — just for a little while. Then you can go play sticks, or throw mudcakes at Yaletta’s daughter.” 

“Ethari,” Rea snapped, “don’t compel my children to further mischief. They get up to enough as it is.” 

Ethari smiled. “You can’t have both, Mum. They’re too smart for tyranny. Compromise is the only way to go.” 

Irie grunted. “He’s right. Just look at what happened to the Council fifty years ago. It was in shambles after the riots.” 

“Moon’s sake,” Glenn muttered. “We’re here for a portrait, not a philosophy lecture.” 

“ _ Glenn _ , don’t keep my boys from an extra lesson when they shun their education so. And Irie,” Rea continued, “perhaps make use of that vast education and speak up a bit more.” 

“Ehm, Miss.” The painter seemed  _ vastly  _ uncomfortable being the target of Rea’s steely gaze. “I don’t mean to break up the family fun, but now you’ve  _ all  _ moved…” 

Glen slapped a hand to his forehead. “ _ Ah, _ and I suppose we’ll have to start all over again now! Moon’s sake, Ethari, can’t you just strap them to your legs or something?” 

“ _ Enough _ .” 

Rea’s sharpened tone silenced the room in an instant. 

“You” — she pointed to Glenn — “keep your mouth shut. And you” — she pointed at the twins and somehow managed to encompass them both — “will stand quietly for an hour while this poor man does his job properly,  _ do you understand _ ?” 

Both Aiden and Bran nodded, wide-eyed and mute.

Promptly, the six of them stood by in silence for a full hour while the painter completed their figures and blessed the world for stern mothers and their powers near divine.

*

It was noontime by the time the painter said he had enough to make a proper first draft. Rea thanked him and promised they’d have his crop allotment a week early for his trouble. She may have also implied that Ethari would craft him an extra something, which — Ethari hadn’t said anything, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t grateful. He knew firsthand what terrors his little brothers were.

At Irie’s suggestion, they took the side roads that skirted the trade routes with the eastern settlements, hoping to avoid the daytime traffic along the thoroughfare. Thankfully, her hunch was correct, and they found the forested paths unoccupied. A half mile in, they turned back in towards the village, broke the treeline and emerged in a broad swath of cleared ground. In the distance, a series of low buildings made up the beginnings of their farmstead.

“Back home,” Irie remarked, for no reason but that she could.

“Finally,” Glen muttered. “It only took a moon and half.”

“ _ Home _ ,” Bran squealed.

“No, no,  _ no. _ ” Ethari reached for him, but it was too late. Bran’s hand had escaped his, and he was rocketing across the field like the half-pint devil that he was, and in his haste to catch the first, he forgot that there was a  _ second _ half to Bran’s pair. Aiden, at least, waved goodbye, as he left.

Ethari came to a halt and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think they’ll be alright?” he asked of his family when they caught up to him.

Glen snorted. “I do  _ not  _ understand how that’s the thought going through your head after the absolute  _ shit _ behavior they gave you all day.”

Irie side-swiped him as she passed. “They’ll be fine, Ethari,” she said. “They’re probably going to play with the shadowpaw kits.”

He hummed. “Maybe I’ll go check on them, then.”

“That sounds wise,” Rea said from behind them. “You can do so after we finish speaking.”

Ethari blinked. “Now?” 

Rea raised a thin eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you had other plans…?”

“I don’t but —”

“Good. I’ll see you in my room in twenty minutes, then.” She waved a hand over her shoulder as she continued on towards the house. “You can just freshen up in the meantime.” 

He watched her go, a wrinkle in his brow. “Alright?” 

Irie soon followed with a conciliatory sort of nod. Glen, meanwhile, laughed heartily and slapped him on the back.

“Our mother, one of a kind, eh?” 

*

Eighteen minutes later saw a freshly washed Ethari hovering in front of his mother’s door, anxiously counting the seconds down to a perfect twenty. The tepid summer air clung to the damp ends of his hair and the beads of water still pooled on his neck. It was always with slight trepidation that he engaged in direct exchanges with his mother. She’d always had a sharp edge, but since his father had gone sick, she’d been short with her temper. He held endless swells of sympathy for what she was feeling, but...she was rather intimidating. 

He drew in a breath and rapped on her door.

Almost immediately, it was swinging inwards and revealing his mother, daywear gone in favor of an airy nightdress, time of day be damned. Unusually, her bright hair was unbound, spilling out in thick curls from spiraling horns to the swell of her lower back. 

“Come in,” she said, and Ethari tried not to let his nerves show as the door swung shut behind him. 

Her rooms were as close to opulent as could be said of a Moonshadow. They were large and heartily furnished with color. A plush rug spanned the dark wood of the floor, and vibrant tapestries hung along the ceiling and walls. A line of portraits spread the far wall, a family line from Ethari’s grandmother to his eighth. The banner of the Old Elven Unity hung above her bedside, despite the constant protestations of his brother that it was old and beyond  _ weird _ since that alliance had fallen through over two centuries ago. 

She already had two chairs pulled out by her desk, and she gestured for him to sit. He did so, unable to stifle the feeling that he was about to be interrogated. 

He sat gingerly, then forced himself to relax. This was his mother, not a dark mage set to pull his essence out through his ears. 

“How was your break?” she asked of him, and he cringed inwardly at the choice of words. She made their relationship sound like that of business partners.

“Fine,” he said, then added to the minute silence, “Great.”

Rea had moved to the far wall beside her vanity and was pouring a healthy dose of wine into a thin glass. She swirled it once beneath her nose and took a delicate sip. She frowned. “A bit sweet,” she mused and turned back to face him. She reached into the vanity and pulled out a second glass. “Would you like some?” 

“Ah, no, thank you.” Despite the fact that he could sorely use the drink to calm his nerves, he didn’t feel right indulging right in front of her. 

Rea pursed her lips but set the glass down and made no comment. She returned to the seat across from his and lowered herself into the plush covering the intricately carved wood. Her gaze found the ceiling, and she rested the glass against her lower lip, taking careful sips with every few moments passed. Ethari fidgeted, unsure in the silence but not brave enough to break it. He was still rallying his confidence when Rea heaved a low sigh. 

He looked up. 

“Ethari,” she began, “I didn’t call you here to watch me drink.” Her lips curved on a wry smile. “Perhaps in a few years. But, no.” She sobered again. “I wanted your opinion on something.” 

“I’m listening, Mum.” 

She nodded sharply and turned to point at the long row of portraits behind her. “I told your siblings we were having a portrait done to continue the tradition. As a memorial. To honor our history. But, you —” She sighed. “I assume you know the real reason we had it done.”

Ethari winced. “Yes. Because of Father.” 

“Yes, because of him.” She took a drink. “Do you know why he’s in the medica?” 

“He has the black fever, of course I know,” Ethari said. “You weren’t keeping it a secret or anything.” 

Rea hummed. “And do you know what the black fever does to its victims?” 

“I —” His brow furrowed. “I hadn’t thought about it. I know it took more than half the young ones last winter and a third of the elderly. I suppose it must be a strong strain of disease.” 

“It is, and stronger still to take someone so strong as your father.” She sighed and in an uncharacteristic show of informality dropped her elbows to her knees, chin resting in one hand, wine glass held loosely in the other. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I suppose I’ll have to.”

“Tell me what?” 

“It starts in the throat,” she said, “but it’s only a few days before it reaches the lungs. The inflammation gets so bad, the victims often can’t breathe. Besides that, it stunts your arcanum. Anyone can survive a few days out of moonlight, but when the weeks build up…” She sighed again. “It’s fatal. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

Ethari stared at her for a moment, swallowed hard and choked out, “I didn’t, actually.” But now that he did —  _ of course _ it was. His father, whom Ethari couldn’t recall having even a wayward sniffle once in his life, sent to the medica on half a day’s notice. What else could it be but a battle with death? The weeks had passed in a blur, he clinging to the last shreds of his naivete. 

At his response, Rea blinked, a note of surprise crossing her face before it was replaced by a bone-deep weariness. “I see,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, Ethari.” 

“No, you didn’t — it’s  _ fine _ .” He took a minute to breathe, blinked hard and swiped a hand across his nose. “Does… Does anyone else know…?”

Rea shook her head. “There’s a reason I’ve been keeping you all from visiting him prematurely.”

Ethari gave a jerky nod, eyes caught on the patterns swirling up the edges of the carpet like serifed script. “Would you hold me?” he whispered. “Just for a minute.”

The ensuing silence lasted only a couple of seconds but it left him with breath hitched, a sharp-edged pressure building in his temples and the overwhelming urge to weep.

His mother’s voice came softer, and warmer, than he’d heard in a long while. “Come here, ‘thari,” she said. 

He jolted from his seat and crossed the distance between them in half a moment, pressing his nose to her shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look at her face when he did it. She’d stood up before he could reach her, and she met him halfway, strong arms wrapping around his middle, one hand rising to cup the back of his head. He felt very young, just then, overly exposed, and a part of him felt like he was being selfish. 

“Am I wrong to take from you like this?” Ethari said into her skin. “Shouldn’t  _ I  _ be comforting  _ you _ ?”

“Of course not,” she said, and he flinched at the severity of her tone, but her grip tightened on him and he knew that her anger was not for him. “There is no proper way to grieve. We are not made of stone, no matter what Moonshadow didactics would have you believe.” 

Ethari sniffed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Whatever for?”

“I should be stronger than this. I should be stronger for you.” 

Rea pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his cheek. Her voice in his ear was affectionate. “You can be strong tomorrow.” 

*

The Assassin’s Guild of the Highgrove was markedly different from the one Lain had left behind. Where the Silvergrove had been fairly intimate, with troupes of a dozen, the Highgrove boasted a student body that must have been somewhere near to the half-thousand range, and while the Guild had taken up much of the day, students were always free to return home at night. It seemed they did things differently here. 

Unlike the single-bodied unit of his hometown, the Highgrove’s Guild was a series of interlocking structures, the dormitories connecting to the mess hall connecting to the library and classrooms, connecting to the martial pavilion they currently stood in. The surrounding forest had been cleared to make room for the hundreds of bodies that would occupy it when training was in session. 

Lain stood beside Runaan in the disorganized clutch that made up the newest members of the Guild. They held neither the diligent rigidity of the fifth-years nor the easy banter of the third, milling in uncertain clumps, whispering amongst each other and then shooting furtive glances at their peers. 

“I can’t believe we’re first-years again,” Runaan muttered. 

Lain shoved him lightly. “It’s not like it was a secret. What  _ else  _ was gonna happen once we got out of the Silvergrove?”

Runaan scowled. “Just because I knew doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it.”

Lain sighed and turned his eyes back towards the center of the pavilion. The students were stationed in a loose circle around the Guildmasters, who spoke together in subtle tones. They had been stood there for perhaps ten minutes before a tall elf in white and gold robes gave a sharp nod that seemed both to signify the end of their conversation and a furtive signal for the Masters to arrange themselves in a respectable line. 

The Master had pearlescent eyes and a thin, whip-like frame. He spoke in a dry, cool bass, and his words cut the air as easily as his gaze. “Students, I am Master Kovir,” he said, then paused to incline his head. “Moon guide you.”

“As shadow follows.” 

The silence was broken all at once when four hundred voices thundered through the pavilion with ease of practice, and Lain started. A sharp pain jolted in his left-side ribs, and he turned to find Runaan glaring.

“What?” he mouthed, though his voice was mostly drowned out by the tail end of their formal reply. 

Runaan had the good sense to wait until the pavilion had fallen silent and the Guildmaster had started his speech again before he hissed, “You didn’t even read your letter?”

Lain furrowed his brow. “Letter? What letter?”

Runaan shook his head and pointed at his ear, so Lain shuffled closer and repeated himself. 

“The one that Laida sent to each of the graduating class?” When Lain showed no sign of recognition, Runaan said sharper, “The one that explained the basics of Highgrove etiquette? The one that — agh,  _ Lain _ , why don’t you pay attention to these things?” 

Lain spared a glance to his surroundings, worried that they were being too loud, but besides a few odd glances no one seemed to be paying them any mind. 

“I didn’t get any letter,” he said, then paused. “Unless it came in the morning. I missed those — I’m sure you remember.” At Runaan’s glare, Lain held out a placating hand. “What? My father had me working late that last week!” 

Runaan opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a sharp rebuke about responsibility and duty —

“Runaan and Lain of the Silvergrove.”

Both snapped to attention, Runaan wearing a placid mask which was his instinctive cover when he felt defensive, Lain openly abashed.

Master Kovir, however, seemed unconcerned with handing out discipline, them speaking out of term or otherwise. He nodded when he had their attention and said, “Laida tells me you are exemplary students, protegees even. You will be suitably treated. As duty demands your full potential is achieved, you will be worked harder than the other elves. Is that understood?”

Runaan nodded immediately, Lain following suit after a beat.

“You will be paired with one of my senior Blades. She had a similar situation to yours, and thus I expect you will find the pairing one of mutual benefit.” 

Runaan said, “Yes, Guildmaster,” and promptly elbowed Lain in the (same) ribs. Lain took the hint. 

“Yes, Guildmaster,” he repeated.

“Good,” Kovir said. He turned his from them and addressed the full pavilion. “The rest of you will move on to pair drills. I’m sure you are all acquainted with this from your previous schools. Here, however, we will build upon what you already know. You will not have the luxury of easy opponents; injury is warranted. In the field, your enemies will not spare you out of any feelings of kinship. We wish to build as realistic an environment is possible. Still, you will be monitored by a Master at all times, so you needn’t worry overmuch for your safety. If a match becomes too heated, you will be broken apart. The object is to learn and improve, and we can’t do that if all our students are impaired.” 

Kovir schooled his countenance and raised his voice. “If any have questions, speak them now.” 

A beat paused, and then a young elf spoke up from the scattered line of first-years. 

“What of family?” she asked. “Will we get to see them? In Asetti, they say the Highgrove frowns upon friendship and bonding, that it does not make for good warriors.”

Lain raised his brows. Asetti was in the east, nearer to Tidebound territory than the Moonshadow forest. That was a long way to travel.

Kovir raised his chin. “That is a good question. It’s true that emotions often result in irrational decisions and an impairment of judgement, but it is false to say that they are unwise entirely. In fact, we frown upon those who isolate, as support and strong social bonds are necessary to keep one stable. This is not an easy line of work, and we are always sure to give our students the tools necessary to ensure utmost efficiency.”

The girl still looked pensive, but she nodded anyway. 

Kovir raised his brows. "Is there anything else?"

A brave few went on to ask scattered questions about class deliberation, pre-recognized skills, dorming with friends or family, other menial inquiries about the gritty of the Guild's foundation. Kovir answered each with the same measured tone, clearly as well versed in hospitality as combat. Runaan sighed audibly as this went on, tapping out an impatient rhythm with the heel of his boot. Lain watched tolerantly, then suppressed a laugh when Kovir concluded his speech and Runaan snapped back to rigid attention. Unlike Lain, Runaan had no trouble with focus; he'd merely decided that training was the only thing to merit it.

"You will now be appointed your Guildmaster for the upcoming year. They will act as your guide through the challenges you'll soon face — I'll expand upon that later. For now, all you need know is to follow their instructions  _ rigidly _ in these drills. If not, suspension may be in order."

Runaan scoffed. "Suspension? Are we children?"

"In their eyes," Lain said patiently. "Besides, if there's no punishment, what's to keep people from breaking the rules?"

Runaan set his jaw and got that gleam in his eye for when he was feeling particularly proud. "You shouldn't need punishment," he said. "Why come to the Highgrove's Guild if not fully committed to legacy?"

Lain sighed and tried to keep ahold of his temper. "Not everyone grows up like we do, Runaan. Not everyone has a choice."

"I see you still gossip like magpies while Masters give instruction."

Lain spun around to Laura's scowling face. It was the first time they'd spoken directly in over a season. 

"We were just talking, Guildmaster," Runaan said in his formal, yet horribly disrespectful, tone. 

"And you haven't learned when to keep quiet, either," Laida snapped. "Talking behind one's back is, in fact, the  _ genuine definition _ of gossip, Runaan."

There was a nervous titter amongst the first-years as in the background, the beginning sounds of shouted exclamations and sharp rebuke marked the start of quarter drills. 

"I don't mean to be overly blunt, Master," Lain said, and really he didn't, "but weren't you supposed to return to the Silvergrove after the conference today?"

"I quit," Laida said.

_ "What _ ?" 

Both Runaan and Lain spoke at the same time.

Lain continued, "But that was your home! You lived there since I was a child."

Laida waved a hand. "I've never had a home, only an occupation. I see no reason why that should change. Besides, I should like to see how the two of you turn out." She smiled mockingly. "I'm old now. Allow me my legacy."

There was an extended pause in which their incredulity was allowed to spread, Laida seeming almost to revel in it, before she lifted her chin and slapped her hands together in a marked end of the discussion.

“Let us begin,” she said brightly. “Now, if you two are so concerned with my particulars, I am rather fond of the Silvergrove teaching style. Would you care to show something of what you learned back home?”

Lain sighed internally, but if Runaan was willing to go for it, so was he. He shifted his feet into a fighting stance, but a voice cut him off before he could properly assemble his arms. 

“Guildmaster.”

The voice was accompanied by a startled murmur and a hurried shuffling of feet as people scrambled to get out of the way. A young woman with close-cropped hair and a stare so blue it could be seen from a dozen paces stepped from the crowd and into the center clearing. 

Laida smiled without turning around. “There she is.” She laughed suddenly. “Well, this will certainly be more entertaining.”

“Runaan?” 

Lain’s voice was faint, and belatedly he realized he was staring, but Runaan wasn’t paying him any mind and had turned his focus entirely on this new occupant.

Laida addressed the newcomer. “You’re late,” she said, and a heavier note entered her voice: disapproval. 

“Of course I am,” the woman said. She had a low sort of voice, quick on the vowels and clipped on the consonants, perfectly unruffled. “Kovir sent me out to collect spring sap at ass o’ clock in the morning, and he conveniently forgot to mention that the boars started their rut last week. I spent three hours running through mud and shit to avoid getting speared in the ass. But look on the bright side” — here, she gestured to the surrounding crowd — “I bet I know more about boar testicles than any of you.” 

Laida harrumphed. “We need spring sap. The black fever hit hard this past winter. I know it’s difficult to find, but still, a Blade of your skill should have been able to complete her duties and arrive on time to perform the rest.”

The woman crossed her arms and set her jaw, but she inclined her head all the same. Lain thought the motion looked incredibly forced. 

Laida, however, deemed it satisfactory. She nodded and began a slow circuit around the ring. As she walked, she leveled her gaze on each member, gaze lingering on Runaan and Lain. 

“This is a Blade,” Laida said in a clear, loud voice. “Your aspiration, your guide. If you work hard, she is what you will become. For now, you will refrain from engaging with her in combat. She is markedly more skilled than the rest of you, and you would gain nothing from a spar but injury.” 

Lain felt Runaan tense, and his stomach dropped. 

“Don’t,” he whispered furiously, but Runaan was already straightening up to speak.

“Why is she here, if we’re not to learn from her?” he demanded. “It seems a waste of time.” 

“I didn’t say you weren’t going to learn from her,” Laida said. “I merely said you weren’t going to learn from her  _ now _ .” She continued before Runaan could voice his protest, “ _ But _ , if you’re so sure of your skill, feel free to test it.”

Runaan’s confidence waned, but his expression did not. “How hard can it be? She can’t be two years my senior!”

“I’m twenty-three,” the woman snapped. “And address me properly while I’m in front of you.” 

Runaan sneered. “Respect is earned —”

“— in the ring,” she finished. “My father was a warrior, as well.”

“We’ll see if his blood holds true.”

They glared at each other. Lain felt close to fainting. 

Laida spoke, sounding almost cheery, “Alright, then. Lain, step aside.” 

Lain, who had been struggling to control his increasing panic, near flew to get out of the line of fire. 

“Stop gawking, the rest of you,” Laida snapped. “Find a partner and learn something — go on now,  _ scat _ . ”

The crowd disassembled into loose groups, faces finding familiars and squaring up for their matches. Still, despite their apparent preoccupation, Lain felt their attention, the sidelong glances, the furtive looks and the words whispered between punches. He couldn’t very well blame them, else he’d be a hypocrite. There was something different about the way she held herself. Besides her obvious surety, she stood firmer, feet planted, and moved with the grace of a dancer. Runaan moved like that, sometimes, but where he felt a child learning to walk, she was a practiced runner. 

“Knives or bare combat?” Runaan asked, as it was customary for the provoked to decide the means of a duel. 

“Knives,” the Blade said.

Laida, who had been watching from a passive distance, interrupted a pair of recruits who were sparring with a dejected sort of air that a stricter Master would have sussed out and punished immediately. Laida was always subtle with her discipline; not today, it seemed.

“You two,” she said. “As you show little motivation in your effort, you will be demoted. Starting tomorrow, you will be removed from this class and brought to the servants’ quarters. If you cannot be useful in the profession of your choice, we will make use of you in other ways.” While the newly-deemed domestics gawped at her, she continued on, pointing over the heads of several sparring pairs and to the far left. “As your first act of service, you can fetch a pair of knives for your superiors. The jambiyas, not the longswords.” 

Another moment passed, and then —

“I said  _ go _ .” 

The two snapped to their feet and scurried away. 

Laida leveled her gaze on the first-years, who had paused in their training to watch the spectacle. She did not immediately give an order to continue, which further confirmed Lain’s suspicions. It had not merely been a punishment, but a grim reminder that they were no longer children. One’s profession was to be taken seriously, for that was their contribution to the community. Showing laxity was a disrespect on the family and society that had raised you.

Lain swallowed his despondence and buried the lesson in his heart.

When the ousted pair returned carrying knives, Laida wasted no time in directing them to prepare. They tested their respective blades before settling into stances, Runaan high and light, the Blade seated deeper, legs spread wide and firm.

“Begin.” 

Runaan moved first, dashing first to the left and then spinning on his heel to strike from the right. The Blade, however, anticipated his move before he could complete the attack, and slipped out of range.

The Blade thrust her hand between his. There was a scattered flurry of footsteps, a startled breath, and suddenly the knife was arcing through the air, a dangerous journey, where it came to rest point-first in the loamy sand. Lain stared. He'd never seen anyone best Runaan in knives, nevermind in seconds. True to his training, Runaan had quit the fight as soon as the knife slipped from his fingers, and he now stood in quiet regard of the woman and the dagger she held to his throat.

"Tiadrin!" Laida's voice sounded above the chaos of the sparring room. "Quit beating up the recruits and focus on your job!"

Tiadrin scowled and muttered under her breath, "Beating up recruits  _ is _ my job." But she raised her voice and yelled with only a hint of sarcasm "Understood, Guildmaster!" before turning back to Runaan. 

She eyed him for a long moment before she relaxed her stance and pulled the knife away. "I hope you learn quickly," was all she said, and Lain was enthralled.

*

The forges were set up in columned sections, three-walled cubicles that allowed a measure of solitude while still providing the ventilation necessary to keep the occupants inside from going mad. The first- through sixth-years would be in the front by the entryway, sharing a learning space with their fellows until they were deemed competent enough to be trusted to work alone. 

Ethari, in his eighth year, was well past that point, thank the Moon. He recalled Tekkim’s reedy voice railing at him to  _ work harder, not faster _ and  _ no, strike from your core not your shoulder,  _ imagined he had only gotten worse with the time passed, and shuddered.

Lark was a much beloved alternative, a good teacher and a good friend besides. He directed without commanding, and he recognized talent well enough to give Ethari the proper space he needed to blossom. They got on as well as family.

Ethari was seated at the table, working on piecing the fractured ends of a chain necklace together, while Lark sanded the edge of a dagger beneath a magnifying lens. There was no exact moment to pinpoint when the merry chatter of the forge turned urgent, but the commotion had him glancing up, startled. They were not in one of the forge rooms; those were loud and busy, as there were many bodies within these walls and only five forges to choose from, and they were doing quiet work today.

Still, Ethari could hear Tekkim’s yelling from thirty paces off.

“You can’t just come in here unannounced! There are  _ papers  _ for that! The ledgers —”

The response came, sharp and brutal, too crass to repeat in polite company.

Ethari shot a wide-eyed glance at Lark. “Oh, no,” he muttered, already moving to stand. 

Tiadrin burst into his workshop with a storm on her heels, a handful of angry mastersmiths and a crowd of two dozen trailing behind to watch. 

“Ethari,” she barked, mindless of the attention, “I need you to come with me.” 

Ethari let out a low, distressed noise. “Tiadrin, I’m  _ working _ —” 

“Damn your work,” she snapped. “Family is more important, and I need you.” 

He hesitated, glancing back at Lark. Lark shrugged and held up his hands. “Don’t look at me, son. It’s the Council who will be upset. I’m just a conduit.” 

Sighing, Ethari set the necklace down on the table. He left his tools out in the hopes that he might actually be returning to work this evening — unlikely — and moved to follow Tiadrin out. Along their way, he noticed the tight set of her shoulders and the stiffness of her gait and wondered what had set her off so much that she remanded the safety rules of the smithy. Despite what the Highgrove said of her, Tiadrin was not rash. Quick to temper, and crass, but always calculated. 

They exited through the high-domed exit hall and came upon the sight of the village in full bustle. They were not Sunfires; the night did not mean an end to festivities. Ethari had expected Tiadrin to stop once they’d come outside, but she did not, nor show any sign of doing so anytime soon. 

“Tiadrin.” He lengthened his stride and tapped her on the shoulder. She spun and caught his wrist in her closed fist. Another elf would have balked at the fierce expression on her face. Ethari regarded her with furrowed brows.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She fidgeted. “Can we not talk here?” 

That only piqued his concern further, but he nodded all the same and let her lead him off to the forest’s edge. She paused there and looked around, her frown growing with each second spent appraising her surroundings, turned and headed further into the trees. Ethari followed obediently. The gardens were only a few minutes walk in the other direction, and as good a place to speak as any, the stone benches certainly more comfortable than a tree for a back rest, but they were also  _ populated _ , and he got the feeling that would be more important to Tiadrin than secondary comfort. 

Perhaps half a mile in, Ethari put a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, and the sharp edge was gone, anger turned to discomfort. He got the feeling she would have led him ten miles cross country if he let her. 

“Tiadrin, what’s bothering you?” he asked gently. 

“Kovir assigned me a pair of students,” she said in a rushed breath. 

Ethari hummed. “And that’s a problem because…?” 

She flustered for a moment, confused at his reticence. “What do you mean  _ why _ ? Because, because they’re a pain in my ass, and I don’t have time for them. I’m  _ this close  _ to Dragonguard recruitment, and Kovir did this just because he doesn’t like how fast I got Zubeia’s approval, and, and —” 

She cut off, flushing when she realized she was rambling, and her shoulders curved in. 

“And?” Ethari prompted.

“And I’ve never done this before,” she muttered.

“Yes, that’s generally how one gets better at things,” he said amusedly. “They practice new skills until they’re good at them.” 

“This isn’t a  _ skill _ , Ethari,” Tiadrin insisted. “It’s not a knife I can throw at a target or a moonstrider I can learn to tame. These are  _ people _ .”

“People are a skill, too,” he said gently. “Just because you don’t have it now doesn’t mean you won’t have it later on.” 

She crossed her arms. “Yes, it does. You know I’m no good at people. I’ve  _ never  _ been good at people. The only reason we’re friends is because you were too stupid to take a hint.” 

Ethari smiled and threw an arm over her shoulder. “And look at us now! Passing secrets in hidden forest grottos! How exciting!” 

Tiadrin scowled. “You’re an idiot. Why don’t you give me some advice instead of waving platitudes.” 

“Tiadrin, the advice is  _ in  _ the platitudes. That’s how they get popular in the first place.” Tiadrin’s face was darkening in that way that meant she was either going to explode into profanities or strike someone in the gut, so he spoke quickly before things could escalate. “Let me put it this way. You want to make it as Dragonguard, right?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Stupid question.” 

“Right,” Ethari said, “you do. And you need to have the Council’s approval to do that, right?” 

“Even stupider.” 

“Right, so in order for you to get to your end goal, you have to complete the small steps. Just think of this as one of those smaller challenges — you like those!” 

“ _ Ethari, _ ” she groaned and leaned back against his chest. “That was the most  _ awful  _ advice you’ve given me in all the years I’ve known you. Think about what I need to do to get where I need to go and do it — so, basically,  _ do nothing _ .” She snorted. “I didn’t need your help to come up with that.” 

“That means you can add ‘wise’ to the list of positive attributes I made for your birthday last year! Remember? ‘Tia’s List of Lovelies’ —”

“ _ Yes _ , I remember. And I’m sure  _ you  _ remember that the list ended up in the fire of your forge before the hour.” 

Ethari sighed dramatically. “It’s such a shame that you don’t like your name.  _ Tia _ . It’s so  _ cute _ .”

She scowled and shoved off him. “Exactly why I don’t like it.” 

“But, Tia —”

“I’m lea-ving,” she sing-songed over her shoulder, then turned and began walking back towards the village.

Ethari, still chuckling, followed.


	3. Distend

The Highgrove was a marvel in and of itself, well known for the Guild but also for its agriculture. The gardens were thusly apt, teeming with lush plant life and the accompanying nature. Often added to, the trees varied from thick oaken branches to skeletal birch, following the timeline of the hands that planted them. Wild archways of arcing stone spanned flowers that grew tall and maze-like, providing a labyrinthine undergrowth for the gardens’ inhabitants. Carved effigies of the celestial goddesses danced along the flower beds in hues of gold and white, Lune with her flowing horns, delicate brows tipped towards the sky, Sol’s heavy jaw drawn down in common displeasure.

Ethari sat beneath the shade of a massive willow, caressing the soft inner folds of the vinca flowers that grew at the base. Tiadrin has forgone a seat in favor of standing, lounging against the bark of the trunk with arms folded. She watched him with quiet regard, musing after the gentleness with which he completed even idle tasks. Ethari had the soul of a shadowpaw, quiet and tentative when the mood demanded, but _passionate_ about the things important to him. Tiadrin smiled faintly. He was passionate about most things. 

She uncrossed her arms, crossed them again. “When do you think Kovir will get off my back?” she asked. 

Ethari glanced up at her, fingers still cradled around the flower. “Has he not already? It’s been two weeks since he paired you off with your students.” 

“ _No_ . It’s been two weeks of _hell_.” Tiadrin rolled her shoulders and scowled. “The first one is too busy staring at me like a shadowpaw kit to make any use of his potential, and the second one has his head so far up his ass he can’t see three feet in front of him.”

“Come now,” Ethari said, “they can’t be that bad.” 

She sent him a flat stare. “They are. I don’t know how the Masters expect me to teach people who don’t want to learn.” Tiadrin looked about to continue, but she snapped her mouth shut before she could start, and her face twisted into a scowl. 

“Well look who it is.”

Ethari twisted at the hip to see what she was looking at and nearly jumped out of his skin. They were so _quiet_.

“Hi there.” Lain waved a hand and smiled. “It’s been a while, huh?” 

“All of three hours,” Tiadrin said sourly. 

“Good hours, I hope,” he said brightly. 

“They _were_.” 

Lain’s brows rose in surprise. Clearly, he was not used to any admittance of enjoyment from her — and clearly he missed the double meaning of her words. “Oh! Well, I’m glad.” 

Runaan cleared his throat. “Apologies,” he said. “We didn’t realize this spot was already occupied. We’ll be on our way.” 

“That would be best,” Tiadrin agreed.

Ethari sent her a sharp look. “Ignore her,” he said. “She’s just snippy because the Masters are giving her a hard time.”

“What for?” Lain sounded surprised. “She seems to be well above the standards for a Blade.” 

“ _Ethari,_ I swear to —”

“Oh, you know how hard it is to get into the Dragonguard.” Ethari waved a hand. “The Guild hounds you for years before they even consider you.”

Both Lain and Runaan blinked at that.

“You — you’re looking into that, too?” Lain asked, and he sounded so baffled Ethari couldn’t help but laugh. Honestly, he didn’t know what Tiadrin had against him. 

Tiadrin swore like a Skywing who’d dropped her shinies. “You’re _shitting_ me. I’m teaching my own _fucking_ competition?” 

“We don’t have to ‘compete,’ ” Lain said. “There are _two_ Dragonguard elected every twelfth year.” 

“Yes,” Runaan, who’d been quiet, spoke up, “perhaps you can graduate together. You do get along _so well_.” 

“He’s better than you,” Tiadrin snapped. “At least he can keep his trap shut for long enough to remember half of what I say. The same can’t be said for you.” 

Runaan barked a harsh laugh. “Is that a joke? I didn’t realize you held irony in your repertoire as well as verbosity.” 

“It’s like you haven’t learned _anything_ from the dozen times I’ve thrown you on your ass —”

Ethari took hold of her wrist. 

Tiadrin looked ready to murder.

“Would you stop arguing?” he said. “You’re like children.” 

_That_ had an effect on them. Tiadrin hated nothing more than to be underestimated: age, size, rank, any of it. Runaan, it seemed, fared no better. In fact, he was looking at Ethari with an odd sort of expression, blue eyes drawn wide and dark, lips parted in soft surprise.

Ethari swallowed and firmed his resolve. Pretty or not, no one talked to Tiadrin that way without proper discipline. Still, he quelled his initial response to lash out and forced his tone to smooth of burrs.

“Perhaps try _discussing_ instead,” he suggested, then added pointedly, “like adults, which I assume you both are.” 

Surprisingly, Runaan was the first to give. He’d glanced at Ethari more than once during his speech, and he now looked at the floor with shoulders pulled to attention, jaw set, and just the faintest tinge of red on his ears. “I spoke out of line,” he said stiffly. “I apologize.” 

Tiadrin raised a brow but otherwise said nothing. 

Runaan hesitated, then turned halfway and said quickly, “You speak wisely, Ethari. I thank you.”

Ethari flustered, Runaan’s willingness to acknowledge his wrong quenching the sparks of his anger. Besides, even half of his attention was more than enough. 

“You… You do?” Ethari’s voice came out a tad higher than he was used to. 

“I do.” Runaan was looking at the ground, but his gaze flickered on his next sentence, words soft and sincere. “I appreciate an elf who defends his peers. I strive for the same.” 

They shared a look, then, and Ethari wondered breathlessly after the swimming blue of his eyes, so like Tiadrin’s — yet they lacked that hardened edge, even despite Runaan’s oppositional front.

“I do, too,” Lain said cheerily. “Look at that, see? We can make this work.”

“An overstatement,” Tiadrin said testily. “It takes more than one half-hearted apology to make up for the utter _shit_ you two have given me.” 

Ethari was still looking at Runaan when he murmured, dreamlike, “I wouldn’t call _that_ half-hearted.” 

He realized only seconds after what he’d said — worse, how he’d said it — and he snapped around to meet Tiadrin’s baffled gaze, panic squeezing the breath from his lungs. 

_Shit_.

There was a long pause in which Tiadrin stared at him and the rest pretended not to, and Ethari wished more than ever that his friend of choice did not possess a thirty-ton gaze and all the clairvoyance of a Star Mage. 

“I — we’ll just be going,” came Runaan’s voice from behind, and Ethari cleared his throat, parsed a smile of farewell, heart stuttering uncomfortably when Runaan returned it with one of his own. Lain waved, somewhat confused but well-mannered as ever, and followed Runaan into the wood. 

Tiadrin rounded on him immediately, and he hunched his shoulders in unhappy resignation.

“Ethari, what was that?” 

“What was what?”

Tiadrin stared at him, stared at him some more. Then she slapped him, rather violently, on the arm. “Are you fucking serious? You have the hots for my _student_ ? _That_ asswipe?”

Ethari mumbled something inelegant and looked at the ground. 

“This isn’t happening.” Tiadrin pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers and breathed deeply. “I can’t believe you’re crushing on _him_. I didn’t know assholes were your type.” 

“Well, what has he done to get such adamant disapproval?” Ethari asked, just on the far side of snappish. “He seems nice enough.” 

She snorted. “To the hot craftsman, yeah. To the Blade who’s trying to teach him, on the other hand, he has somewhere between three and five sticks shoved up his ass — large ones.” 

Ethari looked up at her. “He thinks I’m hot?” 

Tiadrin groaned. “Oh my _Gods_ , Ethari. That’s what you got from what I just said. You’re worse than Janala, and she’s three years younger than you and three times as stupid.”

“I just think he’s neat.” 

She snorted. “ ‘Neat.’ “

“Oh, come _on_ , Tiadrin, he’s pretty.” He sighed dramatically and flung an arm over his eyes. 

“We’re Moonshadows. ‘Pretty’ is right up there with stabby and good at lying.”

His brow furrowed. “Okay, I’m going to ignore what you just said on account of the fact that you just spent a month in Sunfire territory and probably absorbed some of the propaganda — _anyway_ , Runaan is _extra_ pretty, and I think I’m justified in saying so.” 

“Of course, Ethari,” she deadpanned. “Whatever you say.” 

*

The sparring grounds spanned three hundred yards from its center, providing ample space for a troupe of training partners to practice properly. To keep from overcrowding, the pavilion was on a clocked rotation, starting from the fifth-years in the high morning and descending to the first-years in the evening. As one moved from year to year, they were given longer training hours earlier in the day, increased responsibility to match their increased skill, but as Runaan and Lain had been present for less than a month, that was not something they needed to worry about.

Rather, they needed to worry about the rigorous schedule Tiadrin had set for them. Apparently her role as mentor granted her quite a bit more power over their waking lives than Lain and Runaan had expected. It seemed that the Guild was testing not only their merits as students, but whether Tiadrin was skilled enough to teach as well. Always looking to weed the weakness from the Guild — three in one; it couldn't get more Moonshadow than that. 

From their first morning in the Highgrove, they were roused at sunrise and led through a series of stretches to ensure the muscles did not remain clenched from sleep, but while the first-years were permitted to grumble and complain while they went about it, Lain and Runaan were not. They were expected to retain decorum through their duties, act as a model for the rest of their troupe. Tiadrin hovered behind them, a perfect, silent shadow. 

After, they were corralled to the mess hall, where breakfast was served on the hour. The smell of sweet rice overtook the hall, bowls of candied fruit and nuts lining the tables as placeholders until the main course. Lain had been particularly excited for the dessert plates, which were passed around by young elves in kitchen uniform to ensure no one person took too many.

"It's coming," Reen said over his cereal. His voice was hush, almost reverent. "I'm getting the moonberries." 

"Boring as ever," Liam said. "At least try something new."

"There's no need when you have moonberries. Garlath knew perfection when he saw it."

Lain was watching the page serve the second-years with mouth half open. 

"Look at him," Cress snickered. "Hey, Lain, what are you looking at like the girl you want to fuck?"

Lain ignored the jibe with easy patience. "Chocolate almonds," he moaned. "It's been _centuries_."

"Now you're being dramatic," Runaan snipped.

Lain turned to glare at him, sitting all perfect with his braids and prim posture and bland expression and eating his bland porridge — _unflavored_ , might he add. "You don't get to have an opinion. You don't have any taste buds." 

Runaan's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, come on, Runaan," Cress said, gesturing with her spoon. "Don't get all offended when you know he's right. You eat moonberry surprise with the same expression you have on right now."

Runaan sniffed. "I like moonberries. I merely don't see the point in _shouting_ about it like the rest of you."

"It's called expression. That's what you do when you have feelings about something."

"Are you implying —"

Lain's hand clapped down on the table. "Chocolate almonds," he announced, "are coming. 

Cress immediately stopped arguing and swung her head around to observe. "Oh, hell, give me some of those little cheesecakes."

The server, a young elf with wiry shoulders and horns that signified an age somewhere around sixteen, wore a blissfully ignorant expression, seemingly unaware of the hell he was about to walk in on. Lain was on his feet to greet the elf before he could reach the rest of them.

"Chocolate almonds?" he asked hopefully, and the page flustered for a moment, unused to such brash behavior from the Guild students. 

"Uh…" the page stammered. "The last ones were taken by a fellow at the last table, I'm afraid." At Lain's despondent expression, he continued quickly. "But there's a handful of hazelnuts, if those are to your taste!"

Lain sighed. "I suppose…"

He reached to accept the spoonful offered by the page, but a hand knocked his aside before he could take them. He flinched and took a step back, mourned the loss of such fine dessert even as a second hand swept out and caught the offending nuts in a single swipe. 

He blinked up at Tiadrin's scowling face, trying to process what had just happened while his mind went through the familiar fritz it did whenever he saw her. 

"You," she said, "can't have these."

“I can’t?” 

Tiadrin turned to the other members of his table, who had gone deathly silent at her appearance. “Someone take these or they’re going to compost,” she declared. 

Glances were exchanged and a handful of fearful whispers. 

Cress, bold as always, stuck her hand out and grinned. “Give ‘em here.”

Tiadrin raised an eyebrow but handed them over with no comment. That done, she turned back to Lain, who had not moved through the contemplation and giveaway of his rightful dessert, and explained primly, “You’re working with _me_. You won’t be given the luxuries of the other first-years.” 

Runaan spoke up from his place at the table’s end, “For give me for prying, but don’t you have the pavilion shifts this early in the morning? Are our culinary choices more important than your training?”

Tiadrin hissed her displeasure. “You’re a _shit_. I can’t believe Kovir thinks you have the discipline necessary to keep up with me.” 

Lain wanted to say something about how Runaan was disciplined and _also_ a shit, and that really there was no contradiction there, but he got the sense Tiadrin would not appreciate his commentary. In fact, as the seconds passed, her anger seemed to stoke itself, her chest inflating with it, shoulders peeling back as if to fight.

Runaan’s comment of “Discipline, you say, but you’re the one skipping practice,” certainly didn’t help matters.

She took a step forward, face gone livid. “I’m gonna _break_ you in the ring,” she said, then forcibly bit back her next words and spun around to stalk away.

Lain winced at her tone, sharp enough to cut glass, and hurriedly stepped out of her way as she moved past. 

A beat passed in which none moved and the only sounds were those from the surrounding tables, then Liam spoke up.

" _That's_ your mentor?" he asked. "She's kind of terrifying."

"Yeah," Lain said. 

"Kind of _hot_ , you mean," Ram said. 

" _Yeah_ ," Lain said. 

Rough hands grasped hold of his shirt collar and shoved him back into his seat. "Stop staring," Runaan snapped. "It's unbecoming."

"Holy shit, he has it bad," Skor said. "He's practically drooling."

"For your mentor, Lain?" Cress asked, shoving a handful of hazelnuts into her mouth and grinning like mad. "That's kinky."

"You can't blame him," Ram insisted. "Tiadrin is a goddess."

"Ha!" Cress waved a hand. "You haven't met Andromeda yet, have you? _That's_ fuckable material."

"Didn't they come out of the same class?" Liam said.

"Yep," Cress said, popping the P. "Kovir's, two years ago."

Runaan set down his spoon. It was a delicate sound but it drew the table's attention forthwith. "Would you stop talking about people like they're slabs of meat?" he asked. "You're as uncivilized as a band of humans."

"Oh, stuff it, Runaan," Cress snapped. "Quit acting like you're better than the rest of us. You're just fussy because you haven't got the craftsman in your bed yet." 

Runaan's nostrils flared. "Don't bring Ethari into your idiocy."

"Ooh, _Ethari_. You know his name."

Ram snorted. "And you don't? I'm not sure who the fool is here."

Cress shrugged. "What should an assassin care about the lesser professions?"

Lain, suddenly uncomfortable, leaned into Runaan and muttered, "Maybe we should —"

Runaan stood up. "Excuse us," he said and slipped off the bench onto the hardwood floor. Lain followed.

"Where are you going?" Liam called after them.

"High-tiered business," he lied. "Tiadrin informed us last night."

"Right." Liam didn't look convinced, but he didn't press further.

As they left, Cress spoke loud enough to be heard above the din, "See? I told you, leaving when things get too heated. For all his bravado, he's just a coward."

*

The draw of battle was its methodology. Balance. Runaan thrived on it. For every strike, there was a counterstrike. For every push on the body, one had to pull against it. Fierce but not aggressive. Calm but not lax. 

Runaan spun neatly on his back foot, weight drawn between neck and spine in a powerful arc that allowed him to effortlessly extend _out_ —

Tiadrin caught his first punch and ducked the second. She fell backwards on her knees, yanking Runaan down with her, and held him with an arm around the throat. Runaan snapped his head back, intending to throw a strike with his horns, but Tiadrin’s hand had coiled around to the back of his head and now dug into his neck with perfect precision. The pressure at his throat went from uncomfortable to painful in less than a moment.

Rather than fight, he relaxed into the hold and slapped his knuckles thrice against the softened earth of the training pavilion.

Tiadrin released him immediately. She pushed away from him and stood, brushing dirt from her leathers. The white knots that marked her rank were mussed and stained; protocol dictated that she wash her uniform immediately, so as not to disrespect the profession she’d chosen. Evidently, it was a protocol she willingly neglected or it had not yet crossed her mind, for she gestured at Lain, seated cross-legged in the dirt, to get up and join her.

All around, sparring pairs engaged and switched, keeping close as they could in the limited space. Still, they kept a broad space around Tiadrin and her quarries, recognizing her as a Blade and her tutelages. 

Lain responded to Tiadrin’s request with casual cheer, standing and saluting her with fist to heart as befitted the respect due a Blade. 

Tiadrin scoffed, then shoved off the ground towards him like an angry banther. Lain’s expression set, losing its friendly mien. He fought with a ferocity that belied his nature, limb becoming sharp, crisp weapons. Runaan enjoyed watching him fight, moreso with Tiadrin than previous partners, though he’d never admit that to her. He leaned back on his hands to observe them further and noted with new interest the fluidity with which they moved about each other. Curving and twisting like water, motions wrought and circular. 

In the end, Tiadrin won — Lain misjudged his reach, and Tiadrin pounced on his exposed left side. Afterwords, she extended a hand to him, which he accepted with a blush and a very unsubtle compliment to her form.

Runaan shook his head on a frown. 

_Really, Lain, of all the elves you could have chosen from._

Still, he couldn’t help but admit to her skill. From what he’d gleaned, she’d graduated early, _years early_ , and with accolades from each of the Guildmasters respectively. She certainly knew more than his preliminaries in the Silvergrove could provide, and if he ever wished to improve, he’d best set aside his pride and _learn_.

He was still brooding over his loss when a damp washcloth landed in his lap.

Tiadrin looked down at him, the evening sun casting a fiery halo around the caps of her horns. It made her look angry, a vengeful god.

“Here,” she said, in reference to her offering, he assumed. “You can wash off for the cool down if you like.”

He stared at her, nonplussed.

“You’re still young,” she said. “Don’t let your losses keep you from improving.”

Runaan kept staring. In the month they’d known each other, she had yet to show the smallest something resembling kindness, and yet now she went and offered him words of comfort — unprompted.

Tiadrin sighed, crossed her arms over her chest and looked to the side, uncomfortable. “Look, I know it’s hard coming from somewhere small to _this_.” She made a broad gesture with her hand that encompassed not only the pavilion they stood in and its many occupants, but the Highgrove itself. “I’ve been watching you these past weeks, and the way you work yourself reminds me of —” She cut off, then started again, quicker. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going at the rate you are.” 

Runaan ran the cloth over his brow, silent. Finally, he asked, “Why do you care? I thought us first-years were less than the dirt on your shoe.”

“Ah, with responses like that, you can understand why,” she hissed. “Listen, someone I care for brought to my attention that perhaps the reason you’re an asshole is because you’re frightened of something. I don’t know who or what that is, but it’s put a kernel of sympathy in the great shithole that is my regard for you. You can be an ass about it, or you can take it like an adult.” 

His ire had spiked on countless occasions through her speech, but something made him keep quiet. Runaan met her eyes and nodded stiffly. 

“Good,” she said.

“Good,” he echoed.

“Runaan, look!” 

Runaan turned away from Tiadrin’s withering glare to find Lain, expression overbright, pointing at something in the grass between his feet.

“What is it, Cheery?” Tiadrin hedged, but Runaan was beginning to notice a recurring streak of curiosity in her maneuvers that she seemed almost unable to keep hidden from the public eye, and she was the first to walk over to meet him.

Runaan stood and followed, keeping to the edge of the pavilion so as not to be trampled by overzealous recruits. Tiadrin made it there first and snorted a laugh at whatever she saw. Runaan, curiosity piqued, quickened his step.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, but Lain just gestured to the ground with a wordless grin. 

Runaan followed the motion irritably, eyes flitting back and forth over grass and mulch, searching for something even mildly noteworthy.

“There’s nothing —” he began to say, but a tremor in the grass made him swallow his words and look closer.

There, beneath a cluster of violets and a smattering of torn grass, a mound of red quivered angrily. He did not recognize them, at first, but the high chittering frequency of a displeased owner confirmed his suspicions. Three adoraburrs, stuck fast by their behinds, struggled frantically against the static force that naturally bonded their kind. Unhappy to be tethered to members of their same color, to be sure, their little faces screwed up in irritation.

Runaan chuckled. “They seem to have found the wrong ones to match with. How odd.” 

Lain stepped up behind him and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “I thought they were a bit like the three of us, eh?” 

Tiadrin grunted. “Picks of the same color, fighting to pull against forces outside their control? Sounds about right.”

“Hm.” Runaan watched them struggle for a moment longer, then reached down with gentle fingers to pry them apart. Separated, they let out a simultaneous sound of glee and rolled off into the taller surrounding grass.

“Ah-ha! You’ve found the catch, Runaan.” Lain’s gaze followed the retreating adoraburrs into the brush. “Struggling, struggling, but you’ve given them all what they wanted. They can still be helped, see?”

Runaan brushed a finger over his jaw, musing. “I do.” 

“Legs up, chatterbirds,” Tiadrin called from twelve paces back. “We still need to do cooldown, unless you want sore muscles as well as the bruises you’ll get when I beat your ass tomorrow.”

* 

Ethari frequented the marketplace as often as his own bedroom. It was a second home, of sorts, a reprieve from his family and the cloistering heat of the forge. Bright colors adorned the carts and stalls, each trying to outcompete the other, warring for the elusive eye of passing customers. Ethari himself was no exception, often drawn in to look at pretty baubles and admire the work that had gone into their crafting. 

He breathed deep the scent of spruce and damp earth from last night’s rain. It was a warm morning, the balmy air promising another day true to high summer, humidity thick enough to cut through. Ethari had already filled his sack halfway with plums and apples and root vegetables, which was technically all his mother had asked him to trade for. The rest of the space he saved for himself; bolts and screws and strips of silver, copper wire and delicate beads of ivory, anything he might use for a spare project — or to spruce up an existing one.

As he walked, he let his fancy mesh with the passing crowds, admiring the simple artistry of braided horn cuffs or the tailored limning of a dress. He spotted a familiar splash of green and black amongst the mottled grays of casual work attire: the uniform colors of the Guild. That accompanied by the dramatic length of hair that swept across his shoulders marked his quarry undoubtedly as Runaan. Unsurprisingly, Lain stood beside him, talking animatedly to the shop seller while Runaan stood on, looking uncomfortable.

Ethari found himself striding towards him before he’d thought about it halfway, and once he realized his intentions, he flushed at his own impatience and blustered an excuse to make himself feel better. 

Runaan caught his eye before he’d made it three steps out, the sharp blue of his gaze visible even from this distance, widening, sparking in soft surprise, and he was left to cross that final distance on the nebulous edge of panic, mind fritzing, enthralled. By the time he’d made the journey across the market’s crowded thoroughfare, he was sweating and breathless, not quite sure what he could say that would convey the bubble of giddiness riding in his throat.

They stared at each other for a moment, until Lain turned around and clapped Runaan on the shoulder. Runaan jumped, gaze snapping from his, before turning to the floor. A flush blossomed across his face. 

He addressed Lain, “I...what?”

Lain blinked down at him, then looked back up at Ethari. “I was going to ask what you thought of the shortsword, but it seems we have a visitor.” He smiled on a friendly wave. “Hello, Ethari.”

Ethari cleared his throat. “Hi. How — how are you?” 

“Oh, we’re just fine! Early morning shopping, is all. Would you care to tag along?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude —”

“No, no, no,” Lain said, stepping forward to pull Ethari onto his other side. “Runaan’s been spacy all day, anyway. I'll be good for the extra company." 

Charmed by his easy invitation, Ethari relaxed and let a smile overtake his features. "Then it would be my pleasure."

Lain took the lead after that, either oblivious to the way his companions looked at each other or doing a very good job ignoring it. He made a point of commenting on any little thing he thought would interest either one or the both of them. Ethari found himself warming to the elf, puzzled at what it was Tiadrin found so offensive about him. Knowing her, it would be something as simple as his preference towards the color yellow. 

An hour into their escapade, they each held a confectionary dessert in hand, courtesy of Lain's overgenerous bartering skills, and Ethari felt it necessary to bring his discomfort to the forefront before it could spoil future interactions.

He drew Lain's attention with a light tap on the arm.

Lain looked at him, brows raised. "What is it, Ethari?"

He felt Runaan's attention like a warm breath, but he did his best to ignore that and gather his thoughts.

"I wanted to apologize for last week," he said. "I wouldn't do that in Tiadrin's company; it would only make her uncomfortable. But I know she's...difficult." He paused. "She's going through a rough patch, but neither of you should have had to deal with that."

Runaan’s expression was considering.

Lain answered first. He clasped Ethari's arm and looked up at him earnestly. "We appreciate that, Ethari, but you shouldn't have to apologize on her behalf. You haven't done anything wrong." He smiled. "Besides, Tiadrin seems a logical sort. I'm sure she has her reasons for keeping a tight guard on herself." 

“That, she does.” He sobered a touch, but his smile remained nonetheless. “But I’m glad of your understanding, nonetheless. It’s refreshing after so much of the contrary.” 

“Of course!” Lain seemed almost offended on his behalf. “Anyone who can’t offer basic courtesy isn’t worthy of the Moonshadow name.” He glanced sideways at Runaan. “I know one or two people who could do with lessons.” 

Ethari grinned, paused for a moment to collect himself, and snatched his opportunity. “Oh, do you? I’d be more than happy to offer my services, say over a meal of his choosing. Be sure to extend my invitation.”

Lain blinked a few times before his face spread into a pleased smile. “I shall do my utmost.” He turned to Runaan with mock severity and said, “Runaan, I’ve been told, on good faith, to make you aware of a certain elf and his intention to court you.”

“Court?” Runaan said faintly.

Ethari rubbed at the back of his neck, wearing a blush of his own. “Perhaps too strong a term. Friendly acquaintance?” 

Runaan looked utterly lost. “I — I’ve never —”

Ethari furrowed his brow, a creeping suspicion taking root in his mind. “Surely this isn’t the first time someone’s asked? Moon knows you have looks enough for —”

He cut off, flushing.

Lain let out a delighted laugh. “Runaan, he called you pretty!” He looked at Ethari. “Listen, I’ve been trying to tell him the same thing for _years_. Maybe he’ll listen better if it comes from you. What do you say, Runaan?” 

Ethari smiled, but it was a distracted thing. He was far too busy trying to keep from squealing at the adorable way Runaan was fidgeting with his hands, jaw flexing on words he’d thought better of. Ethari watched him rally his confidence, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for battle — which was all very cute by itself, but then he looked up and his gaze skittered away from Ethari’s like he’d been burned, and the most delightful flush spread across his face, and Ethari very near _melted_. 

Runaan said, “I’d like that.”

And Ethari said, “Good. Great.”

And Runaan said, “Tomorrow after practice? Evening meal, I mean?”

And Ethari nodded, and that was that.

*

“Lain?”

Lain rolled over onto his back, slicked his hair back from his face and yawned. “Is it the craftsman?” 

“Wh — _no_.” 

Was it possible for someone to blush through their voice? 

“Uh-huh,” Lain grunted. “I’ll just go back to sleep, then.”

“What? Why?”

“If you’re not going to be honest even on the first sentence, there’s no point to having a conversation at all.” 

Runaan let out a distressed noise. “ _Yes_ , it’s the craftsman,” he burst out. “Would you say he’s ‘broad’ or ‘burly?’ ‘Sturdy?’ ”

“ ‘Broad,’ obviously. What kind of question is that?” 

“Right.” 

There was a long pause before Lain sighed. “What is it, Runaan?” 

“I — I’m not exactly sure.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Runaan made a strangled sound. “Ethari… I seem to have developed a…a certain predicament, and I’m not sure how to remedy it.”

“Runaan.” Lain scooted forward on his elbows and swung his head over the edge of the bed. He hung like that, suspended in the air, hair dangling into his face. “A crush isn’t a disease. It won’t hurt you.”

“How can you say that after this morning?” 

Lain huffed a laugh. “That was just one time. Besides, this is the first time I’ve known you to express romantic emotions at all. It’s bound to be overwhelming. Cut yourself some slack.” 

“I can’t do that when letting my guard down means a knife to the gut.” 

“It will get better with time,” Lain promised. “Look, either your feelings will peter out or you’ll grow a pair and just tell him.”

Runaan barked an incredulous laugh. “Here you are going on about me. What about you?”

Lain almost fell out of the bed. “What are you talking about?” 

“ _Don’t_ even start. You had it bad for her even before she started showing off the advanced techniques.” 

Lain hauled himself back onto the bed and fell onto his back, the motion forcing the air from his lungs. “Shit, Runaan, did you see how she took that guy down today? He weighed two of her, and she wasn’t even trying.” 

Runaan hummed. “Tiadrin is skilled.” 

“ _That’s_ an understatement. She did a double backflip from a standing position.”

“And I take it you found that attractive?”

“I don’t understand how you _don’t_.”

“It’s not exactly something I decide, Lain.” 

“Well.” Lain’s face split into a devious smirk. “You certainly chose yourself a good one. Ethari’s _something_.”

Runaan sputtered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve never seen shoulders that big.” At Runaan’s affronted sound, he continued, “I’m just saying. He _ripples_.”

“ _Ripples_?” 

“Like the sea. Or something poetic.” 

“ _Lain._ ” Sheets rustled below, the sound of Runaan sitting up. “What are you _talking_ about?” 

Lain let out a pitiful groan. “I don’t know, man. She’s just hot.”

“ _She_ — Tiadrin? I thought you were talking about —” 

He paused, then said in a decidedly amused undertone, “I think you need to go to sleep.”

“Yeah.” 

“So… Goodnight, then.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“Seriously, Lain, get some help.”

*

An elfling stood on her doorstep. 

He had short hair that curled over his neck and ears, broad horns for one his age, coppery eyes that reminded her of Ethari. He hopped to standing when she approached, dropping the core of his half-chewed apple as he did so. 

“How was practice?” he asked, to which she sighed and dropped the sack of grain to the ground before her.

“We can’t go inside?” she asked wearily, already knowing the answer, hating that he had to be the one to give it to her.

He shook his head, and his expression went serious. “Not for a long time.” 

Tiadrin hoisted the sack over her shoulder, wincing as her bicep flexed, extending scabbing tissue and crusted blood. She ignored it and began walking. “Let’s go, then.” 

He fell in step beside her, hopping and skipping to keep up with her longer stride. He tripped once, managed to catch himself. 

“Hey,” he called after her. “Hey, Tiadrin!” 

“Yeah?” 

“Would you slow down?”

She stopped. Took in a breath. She was angry. Of course she was — she was _always_ angry. But he didn’t deserve it, especially not for any reason so flimsy as him simply being there. 

“I’m sorry, Iri,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t see the worst of me.” 

Iriden cocked his head. “Are you sure that wasn’t that one time Janala spilled ink on your face —” 

Tiadrin clapped a hand over his mouth. “Let’s _not_ , hm?” 

But she was smiling faintly, so that was something, and Iri was smiling back, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done that on purpose.

It was evening, and with high moon approaching, the streets were busy. Tiadrin felt the tell-tale buzz of energy, the need to move and explore, so she could not exactly blame them all, but still, the appearance of the entire Grove was more than a nuisance when all she wanted was to remain unseen. 

They walked the forest with ease of practice, and though Iriden was the younger of them, he often skipped ahead to examine a stray bird or a plume of violets. Tiadrin softened as she watched him. He was so very young. His life should have been flowers and play, and it hurt that she could not give that to him.

Ten paces ahead, he spun around, wearing a giddy smile and an inquisitive tilt to his head. “Which way?” he asked.

“Left,” Tiadrin said. “I don’t need the Sisters preaching in my ear tonight.”

Iriden frowned at her. “The priestesses are nice to us,” he said and prodded her in the shoulder as she walked past. “You should be nice to them.”

She caught his hand and tucked it into the crook of her elbow, towing him along in a friendly manner. “Kindness will only encourage them,” she said. “They’re bad enough without my outward approval.”

He was quiet for a moment. Rooks and nighthawks were beginning their rounds for the evening, swooping beneath branches on primordial wings, hanging low in search of prey. The sky was clear, and a webbed tapestry of stars clung to it like beads of crystal. Tiadrin, normally relaxed by its visage, hung tense on her brother’s silence, knowing it was never long-lived and always followed by questions.

As expected, he tugged on her trousers and asked, “Why don’t you like them?”

“The Moon priestesses?” Her lip curled in distaste. “They rely on superstition to fund their halls, and they don’t know the meaning of the word ‘logic.’ It’s utterly impossible to have a linear conversation with them.”

“But why don’t you like everyone else?” Iri insisted. “Not everyone in the Highgrove believes in the Moon spirits.”

Tiadrin glanced down at him and raised her brows. “Have you been talking with Ethari?”

Iriden opened his mouth, then closed it. “Yes, but that’s not the point! We’ve been here for three years! You should have friends by now.”

“I do have friends.”

“Ethari doesn’t count.”

“Janala —”

“Janala’s your sparring partner. That’s not a friend.”

Tiadrin rolled her eyes. “Oh, look, we’re here. We’ll have to continue another time.”

The trees thinned into a narrow glade, framed on the left by a row of tufted bulrushes and on the right by a burbling stream. Tiadrin led them to their familiar seat beneath the elm, between the wooded arms of the trunk’s odd growth pattern, scooped out in the middle like the center of a bowl. Obviously, the tree had grown around something in its youth, but that was another time and age, and now its disformity served as a makeshift shelter for a pair of runaway elves.

As they walked, Iriden kept shooting little glances at her, and by the time they finally sat, he was near vibrating with the urge to speak. 

Defeated, Tiadrin deadpanned, “Just say it, Iriden.” 

“You can be friends with Atma,” he burst out. “She’s already friends with me, so it’ll be easy to get her liking you.” 

“Atma is nine, Iri.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?” He crossed his arms. “Faran is friends with Yuna, and she’s _twelve_ years older than him.”

Tiadrin coughed, unsure how to explain to a ten year old the fact that the nature of their relationship was less friends than friends with benefits and the exclusive result of mutual self-loathing and a desire to fuck with their husbands. 

Tiadrin settled for, “They’re adults. Age means less when you get older.” 

“Well, I think you need to take what you can get,” Iriden sniffed. “You don’t get to be picky when you’re as bristly as you.” 

Tiadrin scoffed and unhooked the satchel from her shoulder. “Keep going on the way you are, and you won’t get dinner,” she said. 

That got him quiet. If there was one thing Iriden liked as much as grilling his sister, it was stuffing his face with the various delights Tiadrin pulled from the Guild’s generous pantry. 

Tiadrin upended the sack. Fruits, bread, cheese, and desserts rolled out in a fair epitome of a Moonshadow party favor, but Iri had eyes only for one.

“ _Custard_ ,” he breathed. He looked up at her with wide eyes. “Can I have it?”

Tiadrin inclined her head. “You know I hate it.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Tiadrin settled for a sourdough bun and half an apple, what Iriden would call “boring” supper, snorted at her own thoughts, and continued right on eating. 

Now that they were settled for the night, her mind turned to other things, less enjoyable than bantering with her brother, for certain.

She let him finish his custard before she spoke, loathe to ruin his fun.

“Was it bad, today?” she asked.

Iriden paused with a slab of cheese between his teeth. He looked up at her, eyes wide, and she bit back a curse. She _hated_ this. 

He swallowed, turned his eyes to the ground, and immediately began fidgeting. “Yeah,” he said quietly. 

Tiadrin clenched her jaw. “What did he do?” 

He looked away. 

She didn’t let him. She grabbed him by the chin and wrenched his face around. “Iriden, tell me.” 

He shut his eyes, and she recognized the stubborn set in his jaw, and she knew she had only a matter of seconds before he went fully mute, so she lowered her tone and softened her grip, because she’d learned that worked better than forcing him.

“You need to tell me,” she said, in as level a tone as she could. “If you want me to keep you safe, you need to tell me.” 

“I don’t want to,” came the whispered response. 

“Why?” she demanded, but she let him go because he was talking. “What do you think will happen if you do?” 

“I’m scared.” 

She waited, and Iriden shrank back against the trunk of the tree, shoulders tucked in, hands coming to rest on his brow. “Im scared that...you’ll come back,” he began. “And he’ll hurt you, too.” 

“ _What?_ ” Tiadrin straightened up at that. “Did he touch you?” 

“He hit me.” 

“ _Son of a_ —”

Her fist hit the side of the tree. Bark splintered, cutting the skin of her palm, making her bleed. She clenched her fist tighter, wanting the pain, wishing it would curb the hundred angry voices in her mind shouting _failure_. 

“It’s not the first time.” It wasn’t a question. “When?”

Iri winced. “...last week? I think? I don’t remember —”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed. “I would have come home. I would have —” 

She didn’t know what she would have done, but it certainly wouldn’t have been nice. 

Oddly, this seemed to distress him more than his own neglect. He leapt from his seat and grabbed hold of her arm, face gone urgent. “You can’t. Tiadrin, you _can’t_. You have to stay in the Guild so you can get stronger, and then you have to join the Dragonguard, like you wanted. I remember what you said you’d do if you didn’t, and I can’t — you can’t —” 

She cut him off with an embrace, cursing herself for her weakness all those months ago. 

“You shouldn’t have had to hear that,” she said. 

“But I did.” He sniffed, wiped his face. “Are we gonna be okay?” 

“One day, I’m gonna gut that son of a bitch for even making you ask that question.” She sighed, glaring out into the horizon and the sky that mocked her with its silent beauty. “When that happens, we’ll be okay, Iri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a note about tiadrins character: if the way she treats iriden feels uncomfortable thats because its dysfunctional. abusive households are really bad for teaching proper ways to handle delicate relationships. the implications of their conversation will be elaborated on in future chapters, and from here, the story is only going to get darker.


End file.
